Page 5 of A Week To Wed
I cock my head. This man is a mystery. “So, you’re saying I can have whatever I want as long as I make it happen by Saturday and use your money?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This warms my heart a little bit. But I’m resolute.
“You can pay for my dress. But that’s it.”
He huffs like a stubborn ox. Stares at me like I’m the one who’s a mystery. Ha. I’ve laid everything out on the table. Mostly. Finally, he relents. “Deal.”
We shake on it, and our hands stay clasped for too long. Heat rises in my cheeks.
I don’t know anyone in this town, and I barely know Lincoln. I highly doubt there’s a dress shop or a florist within fifty miles of here. Who the hell am I?
There’s an exchange of sustaining warmth in that handshake that suddenly wakes me up.
I’m Maisy frickin’ Milliken, that’s who. If Texas didn’t break me, then sweet little Darling Creek doesn’t stand a chance.
ChapterThree
Lincoln
I catch the smell of baking biscuits and sizzling bacon on the breeze from the kitchen to the barn where I’m brushing down my horse, Lady. Breakfast already?
My phone tells me it’s after six p.m. Nope. It’s definitely dinner.
While I’m putting my horse, Lady, up for the night and cleaning out the stalls, I wonder if Harley’s been day drinking and decided on breakfast food for dinner. Ray had finished feeding the cattle early, so it’s a strong possibility that he and Harley have cracked open some beers to celebrate Maisy’s arrival.
Shit, I hope Harley didn’t talk Maisy’s ear off all evening while I was catching up on cleaning the stalls.
Harley, a retired ranch hand, has been staying on as our cook until he decides what to do next. He continued working the ranch for years after the doctor told him to take it easy, but two knee replacements and a back surgery finally caught up with him. He’s such a fixture; I can’t imagine Hall Ranch without him.
Once the ranch is officially mine—at midnight on Saturday—I plan to hammer out a contract for him to live at Hall Ranch as long as he wants.
Turns out, it wasn’t Harley’s cooking that I was smelling. I arrive home minutes later to find Maisy chattering about the wedding on the phone while hovering over two or three burners and a hot oven.
“Yes? Yes, in Darling Creek…I know it’s far out, but I’ll fully reimburse you for gas from Missoula…yes I’ll need two hundred chairs, plus the lighting we discussed, the wedding arch, the linens, and a tent for backup. Excellent. Here’s my credit card information for the deposit.”
As I kick off my boots and hang my jacket and coat in the mud room, I cannot recall ever hearing someone relay their credit card information over the phone from memory. I have an expense card for the ranch, but I couldn’t tell you the first four numbers.
Maisy hangs up the phone just as she sees me closing the mud room door behind me. “There you are!” Maisy exclaims. “I need to get a guest list from you. All your family and friends.”
She scoops biscuits and gravy from a cast iron skillet onto a plate, then adds bacon and a side of something green that smells buttery and delicious.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat at the kitchen table, my aching muscles starting to relax.
“Where’s Harley and Ray?”
Maisy dabs her hands on a frilly apron, then fills her plate with food, joining me at the table. I smirk at the words printed in cursive across her chest: “Bitch, Iamthe secret ingredient.”
“Oh,” she says, looking around. “They were here. They left while I was on the phone. I think I was driving Harley crazy with my wedding talk, and the two decided to go have a beer in town.”
I grunt and bite into my biscuits and gravy. Decent. Not just decent, but better than Harley’s. I make a silent vow to never tell Harley that.
“What’s that kick in there?”
Maisy sits up straight and lifts her eyebrows. “Crushed red pepper. You like it?”
I nod. “Unusual for dinner, though.”
